Mirage, by Leonor Henríquez

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I read once that you reach a certain age when the years go by very quickly, but the days are eternal.

I already reached that age.

No more charts, no more boring meetings, no more difficult bosses, no more progress reports; no more monthly payments… those, I miss.

But I am finally the owner of my precious time and, in my infinite days, full of adventures, I go for walks.

My new job is simply to pay attention. They say delight is the reward of paying attention.

I went out on my usual route but this time, I noticed something different.

The snow had melted, and it was hot. Yes, hot in March.

I took off my jacket, scarf, and gloves and noticed an unusual glow at the end of the path.

I detected a different vegetation on the horizon.

Palm trees? – I said to myself – In Calgary?

I swear I didn’t have a drop of alcohol in my system.

I quickened my pace. I stumbled. I got up. I felt an awful thirst.

I persisted. I finally reached the end of the path.

The glow came from a silver beach with white sands.

I plunged into the water.

I drank of this strange glow.

I rested on the sand, as radiant as the snow that had recently rested there.

I thought this was all a mirage.

But my hands were wet. My body covered with white sand.

My thirst, calmed.

No, it was not a mirage.

It was a poem.

I walked home, soaked in words, ready to write it.

I suspect I need a beach vacation after this long winter.

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